In the multitude of diverse galleries across our beautiful planet, there is one that is different from all the others. Only strangers and random passers-life, connected in time, staying in it. In this gallery, no one meets with anyone, no one is communicating with anyone. Everyone is watching his favorite painting in silence, without comment. Some visitors are able to watch their favorite painting for hours, so you can at one moment seems to wax figures standing in front of the paintings. On their faces could not be read any emotions. They just thoughtfully observe, and keep silent. Even artists, who exhibit their works in this gallery, are strangers too: they do not communicate with each other and do not know each other; they just put their paintings, and leave. They paint only and exclusively self-portraits. It’s their only inspiration. Everything else is foreign, unknown and uninteresting to them. What is interesting is that they do not have to be talented, not at all. They do not even know the gallery owner. Priority is given to those who pay more. The same is with buyers. They are the most interesting part of the story. Buyers do not even know the artists, nor visitors, or gallery owner. They do not even know the name of the author whose painting they are buying. They buy what they like, and leave. Trains of strangers pass through this strange gallery every day, and none of them has the mark. No one knows where they come from and where they go. They have no timetable, and no one knows whether it will go back or not. However, their railroad tracks are never crossed. Each of them has its own railroad track at which it moves. Only stations are common to them. The gallery of strangers will exist in one of these stations as long as there are the passengers and trains. It will rotate self-portraits of famous and unknown artists. Strangers will recognize themselves in some of them. Those who are most convincing they will take with themselves, perhaps because they liked the most to them, and perhaps only to remove them from the public eye. Artists, who just paint only and exclusively self-portraits, are so in love with themselves, so that they reveal too much, and hide a little. They are the greatest mystery to themselves, the center of the universe, and an inexhaustible source of inspiration. Everything that is on them, and in them, is infinitely interesting. They do not allow others to reveal them. All they have to say and show they are placed on the walls of the gallery. Artists who have many characters do not have to be talented. It is enough to capture precious moments in which they show them, and some visitors will always find themselves in some of them. Passers-by will always be. I keep wondering why we did not go further, why our railroad tracks circling only around the Earth. Maybe because we still do not know enough ourselves, and maybe it’s just too many strangers.

What we remain silent, it is sometimes more interesting than what we say. In this hidden labyrinth of silence, everything is too strong, unreal, unreachable, unknown, an impossible and otherwise, that could be described in words. It is an inner world, hidden from ourselves. Sometimes, frightened, we try to escape from it, but without success. This unknown world without words makes decisions for us many times. It often leads us to doubt whether we dream, or we look at reality. What we sometimes see, what steals our views and dreams, it does not represent the reality, but only a vision, strange mirage of our wishes. In this mirage is hidden our true beauty and a gift from God to see the invisible. Deep within us resting perfection that we see and feel with our soul. It is the only source that never dries up and the only place where we can be what we are with those with whom we want to be. Only in it, we meet those who we want to meet. In life, that is becoming more difficult and more painful, there are not many doors through which we can knock. Nevertheless, there is a distance that always receives us in its arms. All our life’s battles rest in it. In the twilight of the gloomy days, we mention its name as if in prayer. It is nicer than heavenly dew drops and warmer than fire. It is a flame that always burns. In a world that is becoming increasingly colder, there is an invisible, warm hand, which connects us with something and someone. That something and someone is always waiting for us on the other side of the bridge. There are bridges over which we never cross. We curiously observe the other side, but we rarely dare to go. The mirage of our wishes is calling us persistently. Sometimes we are not sure exactly what we see. The wish within us to see what we want is so strong that we begin to see the invisible. We see the smile that does not exist, the people of our dreams that come to meet us, moments that never happened. Something does not give us peace. Someone, something and somewhere unknown is missing us. It calls us to find him. It is beautiful the thought that there might be, regardless of whether it is away or in our immediate vicinity. Invisible connection keep silent somewhere deep within us, in the secret gardens of our wishes. We embrace it with our grief, watered it with our tears, feed it with our soul. Our view is often wanders to the other side of the bridge, in the hope that we will see our restlessness, run to it one day. Our unfledged towers await us, and the weight of the burden that we could not bring. One hand is still waiting for the other to appear from somewhere, whether it’s in the middle of some endless desert or in the middle of a large city. When they are combined, and their fingers crossed, all past and future lose their significance. There is only a moment, and the certainty that everything under the sun wrote one wish, born from the invisible connection, a wish that for every soul has created another with which it will be able to believe in the impossible. Some wishes remain silent in the invisible connection. Some souls want to kiss, but they can not; they want a hug, but it does not exist; they want to hear the voice, but all is quiet; they want to share the joy, but do not have with anyone; they want to see, but when they open their eyes in front of them extends only emptiness; they want so much to say, but do not have anyone. In all this expectation, hoping and silence, the wishes build an invisible beauty, known only thoughts. In this beauty some souls find salvation from all that gives them no rest. Connecting in the invisible connection, two hands love to each other with silence. In the wilderness of fear, cold and loneliness, they warm each other. At the pillars of distance, they are building invisible bridges of faith and strength. Against each other, they extend the time. You can separate the two hands that are in love, but you can never destroy the bridge that connects their hearts, no matter where they are. Their hearts will always wait for each other. A Chinese proverb says that one who knows how to wait, time opens the door. Is it?

Materials contained in any part of the site, including all images, text, logo and design, may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without the written permission of the gallery owner.

For every work presented on this site, whether it’s a text or an image, there are material proofs of the process and the timing of its creation.

Suzana Stojanović, an artist and author, retains all rights to images, text, and any other information contained on this website. All artistic and moral rights of the author are hereby asserted.

You may use images or text for noncommercial, personal, educational or informational purposes. Commercial use of the images and text on this website is strictly prohibited.

Reproduction of this site content on any social media platforms is not permitted.

You further agree not to link to this website for any purpose or in any way that is defamatory, fraudulent, indecent, or damages the name or reputation of the artist.